


long gone

by katreine



Category: Captain America
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Peggy Carter Lives, Steggy - Freeform, steve and peggy get their happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 11:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17507984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katreine/pseuds/katreine
Summary: When Steve chose to crash the Valkyrie, Peggy struggled to accept his decision. Over a year later, she knows acceptance doesn't make his loss easier.





	long gone

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own no rights to the characters, All rights belong to the character creators and writers. No copyright infringement is intended. No copyright infringement is intended.

Steve isn’t sure where he is.

The bright lights of the hospital room strike him. He assumes he’s in a hospital room—the walls are bland, and his back rests on a surface that feels like a gurney. It’s not dissimilar to the days of his youth when he was sent to hospital, medical professionals examining him. It’s a familiar feeling.

But Steve feels that he’s somewhere new. He feels his gut clench with fear, and the unmistakable sense of alarm roiling inside of him.

Before he can get out of the bed, Howard Stark walks up to him, and he releases his breath. For all the trouble that Steve got himself into, he knows that Howard is somebody to be trusted. Peggy trusts him, and Peggy’s never led him astray.

_Peggy_.

He remembers her like a train hits him, a rush of senses that attack all at once. Her softness, the smell of her perfume, the familiarity and warmth of her gaze.

He wonders where he is, and where Peggy is.

He opens his mouth to ask, but Howard beats him to it. “How you doin’, Captain?”

“I’ve been better,” he says, unsure where to begin. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the infirmary. Well, not the Stark infirmary. SHIELD’s.”

“SHIELD?”

“Yeah, we had to transport you miles from where you were in the Arctic. Hard work, but worthwhile, now that you’re here. How you feeling?” Howard’s gaze drifts over him, and he turns his head to summon a nurse. Steve insists he’s feeling fine, but the nurse does her duty diligently, making sure he’s not running a fever or hurting in any place.

The only thing that hurts is his head, at the moment, but Steve reckons it’s from the confusion and unanswered questions, and not the physical manifestations of illness.

“Stark,” he begins, and Howard’s gaze turns from the young nurse to him. “Where am I?”

His gaze wavers a little, and Steve feels uneasy. “You’re in the infirmary in SHIELD.”  
“What is SHIELD?” The only shield Steve knows about is the one Howard made for him, resting at a corner in the room.

“Well, I really shouldn’t be the one doing this. She told me—“

“Who told you what?” Steve has a feeling that the answers to his questions aren’t as linear as he thinks, but he’s rushing to get to where they are.

“I was told not to tell you, to wait. But I can see you won’t cooperate if I don’t tell you,” Howard sighs, and Steve wonders what Howard is being so secretive about. “SHIELD stands for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. It’s an organization established to counter terrorism and threats to the greater good.” He swallows, and Steve thinks that he must have memorized it off a brochure.

“And why am I… here?”

“Because,” Howard sighs, and folds himself to a steel chair. “My team rescued you. Also, I created SHIELD, with Peggy Carter.” His gaze turns alarmed when Steve shoots out of bed, strangled against the tubes and wires attached to his buddy.

“Buddy, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We’re still monitoring your condition,” he reasons, but Steve is adamant and starts pulling out wires. _Peggy_. He has to get to Peggy, has to let her know that their last conversation isn’t the end—but Howard stops him effectively with a bellow. “Steve!”

He stops his actions, dangling tubes in his hand, parts of his skin torn. His gaze swirls. He looks at Howard, frustratingly brushing a hand through his hair, and whispers, “Peggy.”

In less than a minute, a handful of nurses barrage the room, and he feels cotton swabbed against parts of him, and a needle piercing his bicep.

He tries to call out for Peggy but he can barely hear his voice.

He succumbs to the darkness.

* * *

 

It’s an afternoon in the old building of the SSR, and Peggy rifles through her files—as much as she is an organized agent, she can sometimes misfile cases after a long day. She tries to look for her old index when her desk phone rings, and holds until the switchboard connects the call. Tapping red lacquered fingers on her oak desk, she waits.

“Peggy,” Howard Stark’s rough voice filters through the audio, and Peggy responds. “Howard.”

“Peggy, he, he’s awake.” his voice is barely audible, but Peggy processes his words.

It’s been a year and seven months, by her estimate, since Steve went. He was _gone_ was the consensus most everyone shared. It’s something she told herself as well. It’s why she’s worked so hard in what she does, burying herself in work and burning out at the end of it.

Because she can’t bear to stop a second, to think about him. To mourn what was lost, what had never been.

What she could have told him, what she could have shared with him.

In her quiet retrospection, she can feel her heart break—it shouldn’t. She’s resolved to steel herself, erect a wall around it since she was in the service. She remembers the day Howard came to her, asking for her help in an organization he established, and an operation that she reluctantly said no to.

The former is now SHIELD, an organization she’s part and parcel of, a work of love and pride by herself, Colonel Phillips, and Howard Stark. For all that he is, Howard is a stronghold in Peggy’s life, able to see her as both an agent, and a friend and ally. The latter is a plan that Peggy detested from the beginning, one he later called Operation Arctic. Determined to bring Steve back, Howard pooled his resources—a plentiful of it, a dizzying amount Peggy’s sure could establish twenty more SHIELDs—in order to rescue him. Sparing only two months after his disappearance, Howard went on with his project, only telling Peggy once a good quarter of a year went by.

Enraged, she refused and asked him to halt operations, but Howard’s a stubborn bastard.

Purely her words.

 

The thing that made it so difficult for Peggy to reconcile rescuing Steve and bringing him back was his free will. She reminded him once, of Barnes, his decision set in stone, and the importance in honoring that decision. She would not find herself a hypocrite by willing Steve’s heroic deed to go in vain. She knows that Steve made the decision on his own—a true, unselfish act of heroism, and that no man could ever do the same. She knows that he could have lived a full life if he listened to her, if she could’ve possibly made another flight plan that was foolproof, but Steve didn’t.

And so, she kept his decision in her heart, in a broken space that was chipped away by him.

What she didn’t tell Howard was, deep in her heart, if she had made the decision to agree to his operation, she knew that she wouldn’t bear seeing Steve dead. She wouldn’t be able to go through her life knowing that a second chance made in man’s hands would yield a lifeless body. She knows that the likelihood of Steve living—despite the serum Erskine gave him—was very little, and that she can’t risk losing him again.

The first time she did, she could barely live as it was. She doesn’t want to go through it again, the emptiness she’s living in now.

“Peggy?” The line crackles, and she realizes that she’s been thinking too long, making Howard wait.

“What is it?”

“Steve, he’s awake.”

His voice jolts her. _He couldn’t possibly, no_ , she reasons, but a part of her beats gleefully. She knows Howard’s efforts were defying what fate had intended, but she’s selfish in this regard—she wants to know if he’s alright, if he’s still in one piece.

If he’s cognizant, awake, and if he’ll be able to live.

“I’m on my way,” she says, and puts down the phone.

_Selfish acts lead to purely evil results_ , she tells herself, but her feet bring her closer to where she wants to be.

 

Peggy makes it to the infirmary in record time. The world blurs around her—she could barely wave at the man in the newspaper stand, or at Angie peering out in the diner. She knows the gravity of what mere minutes could accomplish, what seconds could change in a lifetime.

She thanks her extensive physical training for her coordination as she breaks out into a run on the pavement, not stopping until she reaches the doorway.

The sight is familiar to her. The room is a bit bigger than a normal infirmary is, thankfully, and the group of doctors and nurses surrounding the bed doesn’t crowd her. She raises her head and Howard spots her, thankfully. Tilting her head, she signs to him to walk out to the hallway, and he follows.

“How long has he been awake?” is her first question, but it’s not what she wants to ask. All the queries flood her mind, almost rendering her mute.

“Not long. Short of fifteen minutes,” Howard says plainly, and her heart beats in double time. Fifteen minutes could mean the difference, she thinks, and looks at him straight. “Did he lose consciousness?”

“No, we tranq’ed him.” At her alarmed expression, Howard raises his hands. “We had to, Peg. He was out of it. He started to pull out his cables, and we didn’t want him to hurt himself.”

“I’m sure other methods would have calmed him down,” Peggy struggles to keep calm. She knows it’s not Howard’s fault, but any harm that could come to Steve sets her up like a contact explosive.

“It was the quickest. He’s okay, Peg,” Howard says in a low tone, and Peggy lets out a long breath. She doesn’t know how to keep herself together, and is silently thankful that Howard is here. “He’ll come to sorts in a few, I’m sure.”

“I hope,” Peggy whispers, and snaps up. “How did he—“

“—regain consciousness? He just did, Peg. I was taken aback myself, but I had to show him everything was good.” Howard looks ahead, almost talking to himself.

“Thank you, for being present.” Peggy has the desire to hug him as one would a friend, but she knows he’s not accustomed to her showing a bit of emotion, so she just puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Her eyes communicate gratitude, and Howard nods at her.

A year and three months ago, she pleaded to Howard to cease the operation, even resorting to tears, unable to control herself. But Howard pushed through, straining their relationship. She and the colonel kept SHIELD running, Howard operated on his brainchild, as she put it. Distance helped her realize that Howard wasn’t only doing it for glory—trying to bring Steve back—or to put a period on an otherwise unfinished sentence. He wants to bring him back because he was his friend, in some way. And that he’s a good man who lost someone.

It’s only when he found Steve that Peggy began talking to Howard—beginning with a long apology and a short explanation of why she initially didn’t want him to proceed with his plan. Howard is understanding of her, and she is thankful for his generosity.

In the present, they stand near the doorway, not leaning on the walls, but merely listening in. They’re both quiet, but only the rustle of papers and silent footsteps clue them in. They both go in the room, and observe Steve.

Peggy’s thoughts are as heavy as a rain cloud—she knows the repercussions of what they did, what could happen to Steve when they rescued him. She hopes they aren’t as severe as she thinks, or that he could be given another chance to live.

Religion has evaded her as of late—the loss of men on the field makes her question the existence of a God—but she unknowingly asks for enlightenment, and prays for Steve.

_Please, God, let him live. Let him be._

* * *

_Nine hours later_

Peggy’s taken residence in the unwelcoming steel bench in Steve’s room. She calls it so, looking over at the imposing figure resting in slumber. Hours before, she bossed the medical team to take a rest. She also commanded Howard to sleep, in the middle of the day. She knows he hasn’t done much resting, and thinks it his responsibility to monitor Steve. Peggy assures him that she’ll do a bang-up job of it, and Howard’s inclined to take it as a euphemism. Peggy frowns in response.

At least one of them is still the same person they used to be.

One of the nurses left two pillows for her, and Peggy lightly punches it to get the shape she wants, but an unsuccessful attempt at sleeping renders her grumpier.

She stands up, abruptly, and is struck with quick dizziness. She looks at Steve’s prone form, and the clock, realizing that it’s hardly past ten, and she’s been awake at later hours than this. Arguably, she’s barely had enough sleep as of late, but it doesn’t deter her. She pulls a chair closer to his bedside, and marvels at him.

His face is unchanged—Erskine might have changed most of his physiology—but the clever man who stole her heart two years ago still shines through. His cheekbones and aquiline nose are the same, twin golden brows that furrow in worry and confusion, and the smooth forehead and strong chin. A face that would’ve stopped an omnibus in the 1800s, she thinks, and one that could render a whole crowd speechless.

But his face isn’t the most redeeming of him—she’d be quick to defend that it was his character. Before he was Captain America, or the receptor to the serum, he was Steve Rogers, a man burdened with his young past, and one who was a better man than most. Kind, generous, and unselfish. He still is, down to his last actions. Before.

She scolds herself by almost making the mistake of thinking of him in passing—she knows he is here now, in the same breathing space as she is, and gingerly touches his hand. The jolt of electricity kissing her fingertips shocks her, and she’s delighted. Wetness begins to cover her vision. She thinks that the draft is chilly and it makes her eyes itchy, but she knows that emotions have gotten the better of her. Accustomed to guarding her emotions, she is a totem pole of steeliness, but crumbles at the first occasion of it.

She’s missed him, so much.

She knows he’s handled loss better than her—Sarah, his father, and James—because she can’t seem to forget about Steve. She couldn’t let go of his memory, and wasn’t willing to mourn him, either.

For all that she is, she settles in the certainty that a life without him is a life half-lived.

 

Peggy doesn’t know how quick or slowly time passes as she stares at him, peaceful in rest. No fear comes to her, for the first time in a long time. For now, they are safe. For now, Steve is here, and possibly, Steve and her, they could be. If he wanted to. If he wasn’t disillusioned by who she was, a stubborn young woman with a propensity to be a bit of a pain in the ass.

Countless reports about her would conflate and attest to that.

Her eyes feel tired, and she folds herself in half to the side of his bed. He smells familiar, and the heat of his body emanates, warming her. She closes her eyes, and the last thought she has is of him, as it has been in the past few nights without him.

 

Steve dreams of a landscape. It’s peaceful, birds chirping in the background. The scene shifts to a loud ballroom, full of people celebrating. He finds no familiar faces in the crowd. It shifts, again, to a screen of glass, and a panel of controls. He’s in the Valkyrie, but nobody whispers in his ear. There’s no voice telling him what to do, and his control is sapped from him. He’s alone.

 

He wakes up with a hard start, something pulling on his arm, and he sees a clear tube fill with his blood. He looks to his right, and stops.

A woman with the same hair as Peggy, the same deep brunette locks, is resting by his side. He freezes. Could it be Peggy?

Before he can wake her softly, she mumbles, seemingly shaken by his movement earlier. She sits up and blinks, slowly, unable to take him in, until she does.

Their gazes meet, and so much is unsaid, but Steve isn’t able to say anything. He’s rendered silent by the sight of her.

“Hello, Steve,” Peggy whispers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she says by explanation, as her heart beats loudly. “When you woke up.” She knows she has so much to tell him, so many things to try to make him understand, but she doesn’t know where to start.

“I—I missed you,” she whispers, unable to help herself, and sits straighter. “Are you alright?”

Steve just looks at her, blue eyes frozen at her sight. Her heart twists in alarm. Could Steve not remember her?

“I—Peggy?” he asks, and Peggy nods in understanding. “It’s alright, Steve. You’re safe.” Peggy makes sure this holds true, that no harm comes to him as he recovers the rest of his life. She vows it on her life.

“I don’t—where—how?” His questions don’t make sense, but he’s in no rush to get answers. He still can’t believe the sight before him: Peggy Carter, her hair mussed, and her eyes glistening with tears. He reaches out a hand to touch her, to try to discern if this is reality or his dreams, but he meets soft skin. He nestles her cheek with his right hand, and Peggy turns into it. He draws back his hand, realizing it improper, but Peggy holds it with her left wrist.

They are immobile, two people in the right place and time, unable to start.

“I don’t know if the best thing to do is inform you of everything, Steve, but know that you’re safe. You’re in SHIELD. It’s somewhat the later version of the SSR,” she explains in a hushed tone, and Steve nods. He trusts Peggy wholeheartedly. “I’ll tell you everything once you’ve recuperated.”

“How long has it been?”

“When you crashed, or when you last woke up?”

“When I… crashed.” It seems like yesterday, Steve mulls.

“It’s been a year and seven months. Howard took two months off after your…passing,” she says uneasily, and Steve’s hand tightens, resting on her own. “And he was determined to bring you back. I was initially against it, but he proceeded, without much care for the intervention of the forces, or others’ opinions. It took eight months for him to find you,” she whispers, and swallows. “But you’ve been asleep for six months. The doctors couldn’t determine your brain activity, but every system in your body has been active.”

Steve is stunned at the news he’s received—he has a long list of people to thank, he knows, and it starts with Howard Stark—but what he can’t fathom is the length of time he’s been gone.

“Everything must have changed,” he murmurs, looking over at Peggy. She’s as lovely as ever, and Steve continues to gaze at her. He’s unsure what Peggy had done in his absence—had he gone back to England, or continued her life here? Had she been taking care of herself? Had she lost more lives in the war than he counted before? Had she sobbed at his loss? He remembers her soft sobs during their call on the Valkyrie, and his heart twists in pain. He never wished for Peggy to cry for him, to be in pain, but it seems he did exactly just that. He’s afraid to ask her.

“Most have,” she smiles wryly, “but most of your possessions are in a storage room upstairs. And residence for you can be arranged as soon as you’ve fully recovered,” she assures him, and Steve nods. He’s not ecstatic about returning to society just yet. He figures he needs a full dossier on the past few months before he could.

“How about you, Peggy? Have you been…” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say fonduing, out of unbridled curiosity, and familiarity. But he stops himself. “taking care of yourself?” He finishes weakly, and Peggy frowns at him. “I believe that’s my business,” she says crisply, and Steve winces inwardly. “Now, drink this slowly,” she turns a glass of water to an angle his mouth could accommodate, and is surprised at the thirst quenched by it. Once he’s done drinking, Peggy wipes his mouth tenderly with a napkin, then stands up. “I’m going to call the doctor, to make sure you’re in tip-top shape,” she says, and pivots away.

The doctors—four of them—are clinical but kind, smiling at Steve as they examine him. Declaring him to be in balance, they walk away, but not before assuring Peggy that Steve is alright. To their estimate, he could go home in twenty-four hours.

Steve isn’t sure if he’s able to digest coming home to a world that’s passed him for almost two years. He looks at Peggy, staring at him intently.

“What?”  
“Nothing,” she says in her lilting tone. “Are you perhaps wanting to rest more?”

Steve knows she’s offering to leave. Perhaps she has a date tomorrow morning, in a diner, or has to work early, but for the life of him, he can’t agree with her to leave. “No, no, I’ve had enough rest.” He sits up, careful not to jostle the wires, and looks straight at Peggy. “Would you be alright keeping me company for a few hours?” He asks, with a small smile, and Peggy just stares at him. Realizing he might burden her, he opens his mouth to rescind his question, but Peggy just walks closer and sits on the stool she abandoned a few minutes ago. “No problem, Captain,” she quips, and sits straighter.

They stare at each other in what seems like forever, and they don’t speak for a while. The sound of a metal tray clashing to the wall breaks their silence, and Peggy is quick to grab her sidearm. Walking out the hallway, she notes that it was only a startled nurse, and she tells Steve to wait. She returns in a few minutes, securing her firearm, and they continue staring at each other. Steve opens his mouth, to break the silence again, when Peggy opens hers. They both chuckle, and Steve gestures to her. “Ladies first,” he whispers, and Peggy smiles. “What do you want to do after you get discharged?”

Steve’s answer is immediate. He knows what he wants to do most, and it’s not to live in a quiet room where he can be an artist, or out in service. The thing he wants to do most takes priority. “To dance with you,” he smiles, and Peggy’s chocolate brown eyes widen. “Steve,” she says shakily, and grabs his hand. He’s confused—is Peggy unhappy?

“Are you sad?”

“Of course not!” She sniffs, and he tries again.

“Do you—are you—that is, do you not want to dance with me?” His brows furrow, and disappointment settles in his chest. Maybe he was right the first time—maybe Peggy is picking up the pieces of her life and some lucky guy was able to dance with her when he wasn’t.

“Don’t be daft,” she sniffs again, and Steve stills. “Of course, I want to dance with you, you mad man. I would happily oblige.” She squeezes his hand, and his heart squeezes in his chest. He clears his throat, and smiles at her. “Good. That’s good, Peg.”

“Don’t be so confident, Captain. We’ve yet to dance,” she smiles wryly at him, and Steve can’t help but realize how lucky he is, in this moment. In the circumstance of his fate, one man lost to the throes of war, returned by the hands of the universe.

“I promise I’ll make it good for you,” he says, heat rising to his neck, and Peggy stifles a laugh.

“That better not be an empty promise, Captain.”

“I never make those.”

In the twilight of that day, Steve and Peggy immortalize the beginning of their happy ending, with quiet stares and beating hearts.

 


End file.
